


Shotgun to The Heart (And You're to Blame)

by 50shadesofdeduction



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Charon - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Fallout, Fallout 3 - Freeform, Lots of guns, Multi, Shotguns, Slow Build, and I wanted to see how it goes or if any of you actually will read it or not, and fun, and probably cursing, basically my adventures through my favorites play through of the game and what I imagine happened, if not, if you like it, in a file, lots of hacking, please feel free to say so, probably, say so too if you wanna, so this is gonna be better tagged another day but I found this, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 02:22:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5988855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/50shadesofdeduction/pseuds/50shadesofdeduction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble turned story on Ingrid, Grid for short, the lone wanderer and her trusty ghoul companion Charon and not only what led to their faithful meeting but their possible demise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shotgun to The Heart (And You're to Blame)

Short.

She was not the first smoothskin to come through Underworld, not at all.  The first in weeks after another cluster of super mutants had pushed their camp closer to the Museum of History. Which raised another question in the back of Charon’s mind, how had she managed to get here?  
  
Short, pale, leather armor just barely holding together at the seams, boots just a size too big which was far too obvious as she clunked towards him. Her eyes, as blue as what he remembered purified water looked like, were wide and crazed with excitement as they scanned Charon over in his corner.  
  
“You’re--,” she began, voice stronger than her entire appearance put together, as her eyes finally met his own.

“Talk to Ahzrukhal.” Charon muttered, looking down at her. Really short, the smooth skin had to be at least a head shorter if not more. She blinked up at him in confusion before she finally pouted, realizing even her determination wasn’t strong enough to break his, and walked over to the bar counter just a few feet away. She practically hoped onto the top of the bar stool and crossed her legs at the ankle before she began to speak with his employer.

Much to Charon’s dismay, Cole Porter’s voice pooled out of the radio just arm’s length away from Ahzrukal. He didn’t mind the music, truthfully, but listening to the same 20 bloody songs for the past couple decades had grown old in his corner.

The conversation was short but she had long since learned to read people and the ill intent that lay behind false smiles since getting out of the vault, and even before her exit. Her own false mask was becoming her best weapon and disguise amongst the dirt crusted wasteland.

She took to the stool at the bar and was immediately greeted by thin, ruined lips.

“Sweetie, what can I do for ya?” Ahzrukhal practically sneered with obvious resolve to drain her of any caps she had.

“Well, I was hoping to take tall, ghoul, and scary in the corner with me. Is he for hire?” Ingrid questioned as she reached over the bar and grabbed what looked to be a clean shot glass. “And a quick shot of whiskey before we leave.”  
  
Ahzrukhal’s smooth and placating smile only widened as he barked out a laugh. “Not for hire, sweetie, but I’ll sell him for the right price of 2,000 caps. Including the shot.” He countered before moving to grab the whiskey from the shelf below.

“He’s a slave then.” She pestered, eyes not leaving the spot the ghoul had vacated.

“In a sense. He follows any order I give, thanks to his contract.” He laughed out, while he searched through his selection. He purposefully grabbed the watered down bottle and straightened up.  
  
“Meaning you two don’t see eye to eye with the orders, right? Is that why he looks so... wound up? Ready to blow? Like that old bomb in Megaton?” Ingrid continued as Ahzrukhal stood back up with the amber liquid he had been searching for. Ingrid held up the shot glass for him as she went on, watching him as he poured.  
  
What was happening? He could only make out so much of their conversation over the chatter of the bar and the radio—‘2000 caps’,  another laugh, ‘bomb’,  and subtle glare from the older ghoul, and then suddenly silence from the ghoul.  
Charon normally kept his gaze trained to a spot of growing mold on the wall but was pull from it as he heard that ridiculous laugh. He rolled his eyes and kept watching the pair at the bar, simply because he was certain whatever deal was being discussed involved himself. He didn’t want to think about the idea of his contract getting traded again, being handed off to someone as bad, or worse, as Ahzrukhal.  
  
  
  
“I think,” she hummed as she brought the glass to her lips and took back the burning taste, “you and I both know it would be beneficial if I took him and he never came back and accidentally found himself in a locked room with you. And I’d say a deal like that... would be worth 800 caps.”  
  
The cool exterior of that of the owner of the Ninth Circle was known for slacked for less than a second as he took in the information, considering just what she had said. The girl seemed ready to purchase his contract no matter what and the deal did ensure him safety… something he would surely need.  


Charon kept stoic as he shifted, not allowing any part of him to reach out and hope that she would take him out of that literal hellhole and the following sliver of dread that followed. He saw the smoothskin reach to her belt and pull off a small bag. Slowly, she counted out caps onto the counter.

Charon counted with her.

1..2..3..

60.. 70..80..

800 Caps.

He practically snarled as his fists tightened at his sides. Was that all he was worth? As a weapon, as an extension for his employer, 800 caps?

The caps were placed back into the bag and the girl simply tossed them at Ahzrukhal who begrudgingly snatched them up. Fear; that was fear in the bastard’s eyes. He knew that look far too well.  
  
Charon didn’t so much as blink in their direction when the transaction finished. All he heard was the firm voice of the man he had grown to loath issue congratulations.

 

A small piece of parchment, worn over the years but still barely legible, was passed over the dented bar counter and passed into small, seemingly delicate hands. She spun around in her chair and waved the paper at Charon, beckoning him over.

 

“Looks like you can come along with me, big guy.” She hummed as she hoped off her stool.

“You have purchased my contract from Ahzrukal. So, I am no longer in his service... This is good to know.” Charon muttered with a short nod. His hands moved to his gun instinctively, an extended motion long since burned into his brain and as normal to him as waving was to another.

“What are you—,” The woman, girl really now that Charon took in the youth of her face, began as Charon took a step forward with his weapon drawn.  
  
“I must take care of something.” Charon grunted in way of reply as he passed her. If he was going to have to deal with the possibility of another horrific employer, he wouldn’t let this past one live on.

  
It was moments after that decision that Charon tossed his brains across the wall like someone would a salad.


End file.
